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i love my machines :sawgrass slides one way, cuts another. sawgrass
inscribes itself on retinal matrices. it says 'sondheim, there is nothing
to look at.' it says, 'sondheim, you will have nothing to see.' i hide
behind tender matrices of digital format and rastered resolutions
inscribed with rectilinear coordinates. sawgrass says, 'sondheim, this is
your imaginary.' sawgrass says, 'inscribe yourself.':liguus fasciatus
verge everywhere. i live hammock-snails. immobile, untouchable, fragile,
over fifty forms. worlds-creating against polluted waters cleansed by
cattail-marsh. my machines allow me to see beneath every surface. inside
my surface i am dirty dirty dirty. i run in shame from liguus fasciatus,
hammock-snails. i do not touch them / touch myself. i pick my face to
ruin. i cannot bear my face.:i am so poor i love my machines. years ago i
built my machines. i wear machines hide my insecurity / my stupidity / my
unoriginality. i wear machines hide my weakness / my shame / my
embarrassment. my machines say 'sondheim is not a pariah.' i am run by my
machines in this direction. it is winter-season and my machines run me. my
machines take me places. they move my body. they pleasure my mind. my
machines do not say shame shame shame. my machines do not say regret every
day. my machines empty me into them. shame shame we do feel
nothing.:5.5megapixel: 2.1megapixel 3.3megapixel 1megapixel 5.5megapixel |